


Drabbles to the West

by WrynnsBlade



Category: Xī yóu jì | Journey to the West - Wú Cheng'en, 西遊 | Journey to the West (Chow Movies)
Genre: I also promised angst but I can't work myself into that yet., I promised a drabble series, M/M, So this will do.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-06-24 09:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15627615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrynnsBlade/pseuds/WrynnsBlade
Summary: Short stories of what might've happened on their journey westward.





	1. Picture Perfect.

         It was always give and take when it came down to his eldest disciple. The monkey demanded attention at odd times, usually causing arguments amongst his brothers, or starting up trouble in some way or another. When he received the attention he so desperately craved, the disciple would settle down, almost smug despite the monk’s temper. No beating, no warnings would ever deter the King. He could only wonder at why the monkey would cause such mischief.

         Even now, as he tries to meditate, the monkey lounges nearby, stretched out languidly and lazily rolling a heavy twig between his teeth. The way he was stretched out, you would assume that he was a King even now, dressed in rags and lacking any sort of refinement. But the air still stayed about him, kingly and spoiled. The quirk of his brow, the slant of his lax wrist, the slow smile that seems to crawl across his face. It was rather pleasant, he thinks, to see him so amused without cruelty marring his face.

         “Elder,” he drawls out. “Please tell me if you’d like for me to pose for you. I’m sure with how you’re studying me, I’ll have the best portrait to boast about.” The monkey begins chuckling, his eyes closing as he giggles. In response, Sanzang narrows his eyes and stands, leaving the room. The giggles stop momentarily, and he hears his disciple call after him. Ignoring it, he makes a quiet request of the monks in the temple. When he returns to the room, his arms are laden with paper and ink and brushes.

         His mouth falling open, WuKong is unable to form a response. His brow furrows as Sanzang decides to essentially set up shop. Perplexed, WuKong struggles to stay still as his master works. His curiosity was killing him, and he wanted to see what sort of effort the man was putting into the work. Hell, it could be a stick figure for all intents and purposes of mocking the monkey, and he wouldn’t know until his master finished. Twitching, staring at his master with almost _pleading_ eyes, he waits.

         Sanzang’s brush, his even breaths, and his steady hands make WuKong wonder what he could possibly be bothered with painting. Surely, the monk was _mocking_ him, taking so long. “Hey **baldy** ,” he rumbles out. He almost _spooks_ himself, the voice belonging to that of a demon rather than his human guise. Was he really so rattled that the monk had took him up on a challenge? _Impossible_.

         “Nearly finished.” His tone was distracted, not really _soothing_ either. WuKong’s leg begins bouncing, and the twig in his mouth was clacking against his teeth. When the monk pulls back, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully on the painting, WuKong _lunges_. He doesn’t snatch the painting, but moving behind his master to see what, _exactly_ , he’d been working on.

         In front of his face was almost a perfect replica of how he was lounging before his innocent teasing of his master. Relaxed, peering at nothing in particular, his human guise was painted was an odd precision. Staring at the picture, his hands were gripping Sanzang’s shoulders tightly. He didn’t even notice just how tightly, not until the monk murmurs something akin to _let go_. “What the _hell_ , Baldy.” The twig falls from his mouth, and WuKong doesn’t bother to grab for it.

         Rarely, did he bother keeping personal items. He needed the clothes on his back, the staff hiding as a needle in his ear, and perhaps a decently sized twig to chew on. But when the painting finally dried, he found himself lining the back of it with small magical symbols. Symbols to preserve the paper, to protect the painting, to ensure that it would last precisely how long he’d want it to. He had a new item to claim as his own.

         WuKong didn’t notice how his master watched _him_ work, in efforts of preserving the piece, missing how the monk hid a smile. It wasn’t out of vanity that the monkey took such interest in the work. It was out of pride for his master’s talent. That warmed his heart a bit.


	2. Chapter 2

         WuKong loved flowers. Sanzang wasn’t sure if it was because he missed home, or if it was because he was a monkey, but the disciple was constantly finding flowers along their path. Blossoms that fall from the trees, orchids that might be hiding just out of sight, various roses or even the occasional peony, he’s seen each flower grace the rough hands of his disciple. He treats them so gently, so carefully that Sanzang can only be impressed with how delicate his monkey disciple could truly be.

         Their travels bring them far across what’s familiar, and brings his eldest disciple such joy just to stretch his legs and _play_ and collect what flowers suit his fancy. Sanzang could never bring himself to stop the monkey from collecting, even when their bags overflowed with petals and bouquets that would rival even the highest king’s gardens. Even with Pigsy’s complaints and WuJing’s light scolding because he couldn’t cook with so many petals falling everywhere, Sanzang still allowed the monkey to run ahead of the group or just out of sight so he could find the flower he’d managed to spot so far away.

         When they come to a stop near the tiniest village Sanzang had ever seen, his disciple is off once again. He allows it, knowing that the collection his disciple had up to this point was now lowered to something manageable. He wonders where the flowers had all gone, but the thought is shaken from his head as he begins prioritizing what needed to be done.

         Sanzang is quick to get them some lodging for the night. It’s a humble temple, one that he likes very much because it’s small, but with just enough room for them, and barely enough food to fill their bellies. After lunch, he finds that his monkey had run off once more, eager to explore and frolic in the fields nearby. It was rather unusual, he thinks, for WuKong to be so eagerly away from his side. Perhaps this was a celestial’s home and they were safe here.

         The day passes slowly afterwards, and the monk finds himself exploring the village also. The people here were kind, joyful and unworried about what lies outside their home. Then he discovers a pond hidden away in a small cove of trees near the temple. Blushing lotus’ grace the mirrored surface of the water, some a deeply rich red and others the purest white he’d ever seen.

         One lotus, a perfectly pink and delicate bloom amongst its brethren, catches his attention. Sanzang didn’t even realize that his fingers had reached out, grasping the flower in his hands and bringing it close. He already knew what to do with it, and hiding it in his sleeve, he waits for night to fall. The disciples gather around for a decent meal, and he’s pleased to see that his eldest disciple doesn’t flee as soon as it’s finished.

         Patience was a close friend of Sanzang’s, and it proved to be vital as the night passed by in a slow crawl. Once both Pigsy and Sandy go to bed, Sanzang quietly calls the Great Sage over. Yawning as widely as he possibly can, the gleam of sharp fangs no longer scaring his human teacher, WuKong abides by his wishes. “What is it, Baldy?” A silent _shouldn’t you be in bed_ follows. But Sanzang’s eagerness makes the King wake up a bit more.

         Presenting him the flower, Sanzang is pleased to see that it was still unbelievably pristine. “It reminded me of you.” Gingerly, WuKong takes the delicate flower from his master. It was beautiful, and he couldn’t take his eyes from it. Quietly, he _coos_ , an odd monkey-like sound that Sanzang hadn’t heard before.

         Since that night, WuKong seemed overly determined to gather as many pink flowers as he possibly could. None of them stayed for too long, and for that most of the group was thankful. But as for that pink lotus he so very much treasure? Sanzang eventually found it again in their packs, preserved in a glowing orb of enchanted water. Given that it was months since he’d given WuKong such a gift, he realizes that it was what was keeping the flower alive. How strange that the monkey was so attached to such a small gift.


End file.
